


Together, We Wait

by cloakoflevitation



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, No Beta – just me and the block men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:29:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29951367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloakoflevitation/pseuds/cloakoflevitation
Summary: Fic version of Ranboo and Sam's conversation about Tommy's death in the prison. That conversation was peak Feelings™ and Angst™ and I justhadto make a fic version.God that sceneruinedme. I cried. Let's be real, we all cried.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Together, We Wait

**Author's Note:**

> I hate to gift a work to someone if I have no idea if they'll like the content. 
> 
> So this one is gifted in spirit to everyone who left comments on my other DSMP fics. I love and appreciate y'all <3

Something crashed into him, and a hand caught his elbow. He stumbled back a step and tripped over the edge of the path but managed to stay upright.

“Careful,” a voice gently chided, and the hand on his elbow disappeared as he regained his footing.

He blinked, and the colors and blurry shapes in front of him slowly sharpened. “Sam,” Ranboo quietly greeted him, faintly surprised, wincing at how loud his voice sounded in the stillness of the evening. Lately, everything sounded too loud. Everyone had taken to whispering, as if Tommy was only sleeping, as if they were worried they could wake him.

“Ranboo.”

Sam smelled a bit like ash and smoke, and Ranboo wondered if that was a side effect of working in the prison.

Social interactions had never been his strong suit, but they seemed to be especially more difficult lately. Both of them were standing in the middle of the prime path, and it seemed rude not to make conversation, but it was so hard to focus on anything other than the gaping void in his chest. It felt disrespectful, to try and make small talk, to carry on as if everything was normal, but standing and staring and not addressing it felt just as callous. He fought the urge to fidget under Sam’s gaze.

The slump of Sam’s shoulders reeked of exhaustion, and Ranboo heard himself ask, “How are you?”

The corner of Sam’s mouth pulled into something that couldn’t really be called a smile. “Fine.” He choked on the word like it pained him, and then immediately asked, “How are you doing?”

“I–” The words _I’m fine_ died on his lips, the lie catching at the back of his throat. He stared blankly at Sam for a moment, wondering how he was supposed to answer. How were any of them supposed to answer? How were any of them meant to be okay? A headache started to form behind his temples. He cleared his throat. “I’m doing as well as anyone could be, considering.”

_Considering Tommy is dead._

Sam hummed, concern pinching his eyebrows together. “That’s… good.”

Ranboo took a nervous step sideways, just to have something to do, and Sam finally looked away. He took a deep breath, feeling like he could breathe normally again, now that he wasn’t drowning under the weight of Sam’s gaze. The chill of the night air felt like icicles in his lungs. “Are you… I know you were – close. To Tommy. How are you… how are you dealing with it?”

“Yeah, I–” Sam sucked in a breath like he had been punched. “Umm. It – yeah. Uh… yeah.” His voice broke. “Yeah.” One of his hands grabbed his opposite shoulder in a self-comforting motion.

It didn’t seem fair that Sam could mourn, not when Tommy had died under _his_ protection, not when _he_ was the one that didn’t get Tommy out of the prison. It snapped something in Ranboo, to hear Sam start to break down, to hear him so affected, when Sam could have done something, _should_ have done something, _anything,_ to stop it all. It didn’t seem _fair._ He could feel the sorrow somewhere behind his ribs burst into angry flames. “Do you – I have some questions.”

Sam froze, perhaps at the abruptness of Ranboo’s words or maybe at the faint edge in his voice. He shifted his weight, turning his body slightly more towards Ranboo, but thankfully kept his gaze on the hotel across the path from them.

“Do you know what happened? To Tommy?” He heard Sam start to say something, and he quickly clarified, “Not–” _Not when he died._ “Not at the end. Not in the prison. I mean before everything. Do you know what Dream did?”

There was a pause. 

“Yeah.” Sam admitted into the darkness, “When I would – when I brought him food, Dream would tell me things. His crimes. He – he told me, about Tommy.”

Ranboo looked up, tracing the stars above without actually seeing them at all. His nails dug into the skin on the palms of his hands. He faintly repeated, “He told you about Tommy?” and wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. “So then you knew. _You knew_ what Dream is capable of, you knew what he did already. And you still kept Tommy locked in there with him for _days.”_

Sam’s voice dropped to a whisper. “There was nothing I could do.”

_“Nothing you could do?!”_

“I didn’t think this would happen, not to Tommy!” Sam turned to face him, pleading. “I – there’s some people I _never_ let go in.” Ranboo shifted uneasily, and then he felt Sam’s gaze leave him. “I don’t let Tubbo go in. There’s a reason for that.”

“But you didn’t think–”

“I didn’t think he would kill him,” Sam cut in firmly, desperate to reassure Ranboo, and perhaps himself as well.

It was, quite frankly, an insane opinion, to Ranboo. “What would make you think that?!”

“He said he wouldn’t kill him –”

“–Dream _lies!–”_

“– and he admitted he needs Tommy. It’s all he would talk about. Tommy, Tommy, _Tommy._ And Tommy came to me and he – he wanted closure.” His voice was tinged with desperation, begging Ranboo to listen, begging him to understand. “He said it would be the last time. This was supposed to be the last visit. He – he wanted closure. Who was I to deny that to him?” Sam stopped for a moment and then cleared his throat, sounding strangled. “I thought it would be good for him.”

Ranboo’s voice was low in warning. “You thought... you thought that it would be _good_ for him.” The challenge was clear.

“No, _no!_ I – I thought closure would be good for him. I didn’t… I didn’t know he would get stuck in there with Dream.”

“But…” It didn’t make sense, and Ranboo so desperately wanted, _needed_ it all to make sense. “But why did you never let him out? Why did you…”

“I couldn’t, the procedure–”

“You thought of _everything!_ You planned everything about the prison. How did you not think of this? _Why_ was he stuck in there?” Particles flickered at the edge of Ranboo’s vision, and he vaguely registered that they were coming from himself. He started pacing, hoping in vain that it would ease the tension in his chest. “Why didn’t you make a way for one of the guards to go in and get him?”

“More ways for guards to get in means more ways for the prisoner to get out.”

Some of the anger bled out of him, leaving a hollow, aching emptiness behind. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, unbidden, and he roughly wiped them away. “He still died,” he whispered, not knowing what else to say. He turned abruptly to Sam, ready to jab a finger into his chest and demand punishment for what he had let happen, only to see the trails of tears down Sam’s cheeks. “Tommy died,” he repeated, watching Sam flinch and seem to break into a million pieces.

“I know.” Sam’s voice sounded like rocks over gravel. “I should have…” _Should have what?_ Before Ranboo could ask, Sam continued, muttering, “But the protocols… I had to go investigate the explosions. I didn’t know what was happening…”

“Why didn’t you let him out first?”

Sam shook his head miserably. “The protocols. I couldn’t risk it.”

“Protocols?! You _own_ the prison! You’re the warden! Why couldn’t you change the protocols?”

“I couldn’t risk Dream getting out.”

A chill went down Ranboo’s spine at the idea. The last thing they all needed was Dream out of the prison, roaming free again. But even still, “Are you _sure?_ You’re – you’re smart, I know you are. Are you _sure_ there was nothing you could do?”

“If there had been something, _anything,_ that I thought I could have done, I would have done it in a heartbeat.”

And Ranboo knew that was true, he was certain Sam would have walked to the ends of the world to save Tommy. But instead of easing his grief, it only made him realize how completely hopeless the situation had been, how completely helpless Tommy must have felt, locked inside the prison with Dream in his final moments.

As if they were thinking the same thing, Sam whispered hoarsely, “When I realized what was happening, I ran back to the cell but I – by the time I got there – I couldn’t stop him. I… I was too late.” He sucked in a shaky breath, and Ranboo could tell just by the sound of it that Sam was crying again. “He – I screamed. I screamed and screamed, and – Dream laughed.” Sam put his head into his hands. He repeated, voice muffled, “He just laughed. He _laughed,_ how could he laugh?”

“Sam–”

“You don’t understand!” Sam suddenly pulled his hands away from his face, eyes wide and hysteric, begging Ranboo, “I – I couldn’t let him escape, I _couldn’t_ do anything!” He reached out, and Ranboo took a step backwards on instinct. Sam’s face fell, and he dropped his hands back to his sides. His words stumbled out over one another, reckless and too fast. “I’m responsible for keeping Dream locked up, and if he had escaped, then I would be responsible for all the things he did after he got out. I wanted to get Tommy out, but Ranboo, I _couldn’t._ There was no way without Dream escaping.”

Softly, Ranboo tried to reassure him, “He – he could have used Tommy. To escape. And he probably would have.”

Sam looked away, gaze fixed somewhere on a distant point in the darkness. He closed his eyes and seemed to make up his mind about something. “If Dream had done it… if Dream had held Tommy on the bridge…” He hesitated a split-second more before admitting, “I would have let him out.”

Ranboo blinked. “You –?”

“If Dream had held Tommy hostage and threatened his safety… I would have let him escape, in return for Tommy’s life.”

The admission was difficult to reconcile with the strict, logical, unshakable persona of Sam as the warden. He had known Sam was close to Tommy, had known Sam cared about him, but hearing that Sam would have directly disregarded his duties as the warden of the prison, and the fact that Sam admitted it out loud no less, shocked Ranboo.

Not knowing what else to say, he changed the conversation slightly, back towards things he could help with, things he could control. “Do you know who did it? Do you know who –”

“No,” Sam spat the word like it was a personal offense to him. “I looked everywhere and there was no sign of what happened. No evidence, no witnesses, and no one’s claimed to have done it.”

“So – so what now? Do they just get away with it?”

“I will figure this out,” Sam swore, determination blazing in his eyes. “I will find the person responsible… because it’s their fault that Tommy was locked inside with Dream. It’s their fault…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but Ranboo heard the words anyway. _It’s their fault that Tommy died._ “I’ll find them. And when I do…” There was a cold, brutal calculation in Sam’s expression, and the silence that followed promised nothing but blood and pain and death. It set Ranboo’s teeth on edge.

“I can help. I want to help.”

Sam gave him a long searching look, and Ranboo forced himself to hold the eye contact and stand firm. He wanted to help find the person responsible. He _needed_ to. For a moment, he was terrified that Sam would disagree out of some false idea of protecting him, but then Sam seemed to come to a decision and all he said was, “…Okay.”

“Do you – why would someone – I mean, do you have any idea why this happened?”

“I – I don’t _know.”_ Sam sighed, frustration clear in the tension in his shoulders and the way his hands clenched into fists at his side. “It could be someone on Dream’s side –”

“No one is for Dream. _No one.”_

Sam wasn’t the only one surprised by the force in Ranboo’s words. “…Well, I would hope not.”

There was so much they didn’t know, and it seemed so incredibly, _cruelly_ unfair that someone had caused all of this, caused Tommy’s _death,_ and they could just get away with it completely. If they hadn’t caused the prison to go into lockdown, Sam wouldn’t have had to leave to investigate, Tommy wouldn’t have been trapped inside for days, Dream wouldn’t have had the opportunity to… 

“What happens, to Dream? He – we can’t put him in _more_ prison. So what happens to him?”

Sam frowned. “I’m not going to let him out, obviously.”

“So he just – gets away with it? He _murdered_ someone, and nothing happens?” Ranboo could hear the accusation in his voice, and he knew he shouldn’t be yelling, not at Sam about it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

But Sam didn’t rise to the challenge. If anything, he seemed to draw into himself slightly, the righteous fury of searching for the perpetrator of the explosions evaporating away just as quickly as it had come, leaving behind the all-consuming despair of loss. It was a feeling Ranboo was starting to recognize all too much. Sam asked quietly, “What do you want me to do? Do you want me to take his last life?” Before Ranboo could ask if Sam meant it, Sam muttered, “I’ve already thought about it.”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure he had heard Sam right, but when no correction came, he knew Sam had meant it. And… Ranboo wasn’t sure how to feel about that, about wanting someone dead, even if that person was Dream. But he wasn’t sure how to feel about _anything._ It seemed like no matter what he did, all his emotions piled up into one big, tangled, confusing mess that slowly suffocated him. He sighed, feeling far older than he was. “I guess… I guess there’s nothing you can do.”

He looked back up to the sky again, tracking the moon as it dipped closer towards the horizon. The night would be over soon. (Surely it would, wouldn’t it?) “So what now? What do we do now? We just… move on? Is that – how do we – ?”

Slowly, as if making sure Ranboo saw what he was doing, Sam set his hand on his shoulder and gently squeezed. “I think… I think that’s all we can do.” He pulled his hand away. There was the sound of shuffling and something ripping, and when Ranboo turned to look, Sam was handing him a torn-off piece of a bandage. He blinked, uncomprehendingly, and Sam murmured, “For your tears. Don’t let them burn you.”

 _Oh._ He hadn’t noticed. Ranboo raised a hand to his cheek, surprised to find he was crying again. He wasn’t sure when he had started. He opened his mouth to say thank you, but the words clung to the back of his throat. Sam gave him a tight smile and looked away, and Ranboo thought maybe he understood. 

He used the white fabric to wipe his face.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Guilt pooled in his stomach. Tommy’s death was hurting Sam more, and Sam had been closer with Tommy, Ranboo could tell. And yet, Sam was trying to offer _him_ kind words. It didn’t seem fair. It didn’t seem _right._ The guilt ate at his conscious, poisoning him, until he finally forced himself to say, “It – we – he didn’t talk to me that much. And when he did, he just insulted me. But it – I don’t –” He wanted to ask for absolution, to ask if it was okay that he was hurting, if it was okay to grieve someone he hadn’t known all that well, but he didn’t know how to find the words. He couldn’t explain all the weird, complicated things he was feeling.

It didn’t matter though, because Sam murmured, “I know. It still hurts,” and Ranboo thought it was enough.

“But it – I feel like – it’s kind of my fault–”

“No,” Sam immediately disagreed, expression too soft and too sympathetic to help. Ranboo didn’t deserve it.

“–because I helped. I helped with George’s house and everything. And that’s – that’s why all of this happened. Tommy covered for me. He barely knew me, but he covered for me.” Ranboo’s fingers tightened around the balled up scrap of bandages that Sam had given him. Bitterly, he whispered, “Maybe if he hadn’t, none of this would have happened.”

“You don’t know that.” There was pity in Sam’s eyes, and _Ranboo didn’t deserve it._

A sad smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “But I do.”

“Ranboo… It’s not your fault.”

“But it is! If Tommy hadn’t covered for me, Dream wouldn’t have exiled him! None of this would have happened. Things – things could have been different.”

“Or they could have been the same! Dream would have found another reason to exile him. It’s _not_ your fault.”

Ranboo shook his head. He wanted to believe Sam, _god_ did he want to, but deep down he knew the truth. Tommy’s death was ultimately his fault. It was done at the hands of Dream, facilitated by whoever set off the explosions, but at the root of it all, _he_ had let Tommy cover for him, for his crimes, his actions, and that had been the first domino. It all traced back to him.

It hurt. It hurt more than it should, and that only made him feel guiltier, because he hadn’t even known Tommy that long or that well. He didn’t have the _right_ to feel guilty, to grieve, not when others were hurting so much more. Not when it was _his fault._

“Do you have your memory book?”

The question startled him. “I – yeah.” He tilted his head, a hint of caution creeping up his spine as he regarded Sam. Anything to do with his memory made him nervous. “Why?”

“Can I see it?” Sam immediately followed up the request by promising, “I won’t read it. I only want to write something. It’s important.”

“I… ” He reached into his bag and pulled the book out, fingers clutched around the edges. “O–okay. I trust you.” His hands shook as he passed the book over.

True to his word, Sam flipped past the pages covered in Ranboo’s scrawling, disjointed memories and notes to himself, and started to write on a blank page. Then he passed the book back. “I’m sorry, Ranboo.”

At the top of the open page written on the first few lines, in Sam’s neat handwriting, it read, _Tommy’s death is not my fault. What happened to Tommy was Sam’s fault. Sam is responsible._

“I’m going to go now, okay?”

Ranboo’s head jerked up, his eyes flying from the words to see Sam already taking a step away, looking towards the direction of the sunrise. He fought down the childish urge to reach out for Sam, to ask him to stay.

“I have to try and find out what happened. I have to…” Sam shook his head and looked to Ranboo. “If you find something, let me know. Come talk to me, okay?”

Ranboo nodded obediently, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

“And please… be safe.” And then Sam was gone.

His last words seemed to echo in Ranboo’s head. _Be safe._ They were all supposed to be safe, now that Dream was in prison. They should have been safe, _Tommy_ should have been safe. He should have been safe in the prison with all the precautions built in, with Sam there with him… He should have been safe with Sam.

Ranboo felt safe with Sam. He trusted Sam.

_Be safe._

If Dream could still hurt them, even locked away in prison… if Dream could still influence things… if people still died, even in the safest building, under the protection of Sam… could they be safe anywhere? Dream was in prison, but had anything really changed? _He_ was meant to be the one in chains, but it seemed like he still had strings tied around everyone, ready to be pulled and manipulated at his leisure.

_Be safe. Be safe. Be safe._

Ranboo fell to his knees, arms wrapped tightly around himself, fingers digging into his sides, barely feeling the burn of the tears sliding down his cheeks. He cried until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel anything beyond the void in his chest, the crushing hollowness that never seemed to let him forget that Tommy was dead. It had only been days, but it felt like eons, and he was _sure,_ kneeling on the path in the early morning sunlight, tears trailing burns down his face, that he would _never_ be safe as long as Dream lived.

**Author's Note:**

> Just trust me and go watch about 15 seconds of the video I've linked at the timestamp below. That part in particular just really... it got me. Sam's response to Ranboo's question... I can't.
> 
> <https://youtu.be/5FopcTtMhbs?t=80>


End file.
